


come along with me

by whatever_you_want



Series: Little Brock [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Caregiver!Jack, Fluff, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Relationship origin, Trust, classifications au, geese are rude, good guy Brock Rumlow, good guy Jack Rollins, little!brock, mentioned wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24990001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatever_you_want/pseuds/whatever_you_want
Summary: Jack was always careful with Brock but slowly, slowly he became his.
Relationships: Jack Rollins & Brock Rumlow
Series: Little Brock [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932397
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	come along with me

**Author's Note:**

> i am just so taken by good guy brock and jack that i wanted to do a little origin story for them. hopefully you end up loving them as much as I have these past few months.

Jack had known fairly quickly. The Strike Commander didn’t present as a Little, not in the slightest. But a Caretaker knew better. 

He tread carefully around Brock, curious if he could sense what Jack was. Brock maintained things however, they went on missions and he held his own while protecting his entire team. Jack quietly looked after him, even if they were nothing but coworkers. He double checked his bag to ensure that he had enough protein bars when they had long hikes to vantage points, and he made sure that no matter what they were planning they went to sleep at a reasonable hour. 

But it was in the down times that Jack glimpsed the Little hiding behind a very well placed mask. He would tap the heel of his boot against the leg of the chair when the team was playing cards or chatting idly. Sometimes he would tilt his head in beat with it, eyes roaming restlessly.

It was the only time Brock was ever twitchy and Jack recognized it at a controlled regression. A momentary drop in defenses so he could indulge in that necessary mindset. It wasn’t easy for Jack to sit back and watch, not when Jack wanted to entertain him in some way. A little boy shouldn’t have been stuck bored, after all.

Jack got a tennis ball that he made a habit of bringing around with him just in case Brock got the chance to slip the mask off in front of him. When he got lucky it was during a particularly bad blizzard. They’d been holed up for almost four days and Brock had finally given up on trying to get an emergency evacuation from the safehouse because the mission was shot as well.

It wasn’t safe to send out a chopper so the team made due. So when Brock got that vacant look in his eyes and started tapping, Jack was quick to retrieve the ball from his pack. Brock watched him grab it, heel still striking the chair in steady quiet thuds. As Jack approached the table he offered a kind smile, warmer and more personal than the kind of triumphant smirks they shared in the field.

He rolled the ball toward Brock, a bit hesitant. There was no guarantee that the commander wouldn’t jerk out of his momentary mindset and demand to know why Jack was giving him a tennis ball. But he didn’t. Brock watched the ball roll over the rickety table top and caught it. Then he rolled it right back, turning towards the table with his hands open in preparation to receive the ball again.

For almost an hour they had played a quiet game, Brock’s smile warm and his eyes sparkling in a way that Jack had wanted to see since the very first time they met. The game stopped when another agent came into the kitchen for a drink and asked why they were passing a ball back in forth.

Brock had been quick to grab it and bounce it against the table, mask slipping back into place as though it had never been moved. 

“Bored out of my fucking mind. What else is there to do?”

Jack had pursed his lips at the language but it wasn’t his place to say anything. So he didn’t.

It was an injury that solidified their quiet understanding into something more. 

Jack had a bullet buried firmly in his shoulder that the team medic couldn’t remove. Jack was managing. He was in an excruciating amount of pain but between throwing back handfuls of pills and waiting for the helicopter, he couldn't help but notice Brock’s pacing. It could have been mistaken as a worried commander but his frown was too deep, his eyes too wet, and his hands were opening and closing rapidly at his sides.

The rest of the team was packing up a good enough distance away that Jack felt comfortable enough to assure him, “Don’t worry buddy, I’m gonna be okay. Just a little boo-boo.”

“Jus’ a lil’ one?” Brock whispered, edging closer. “Ouch.”

“Ouch,” Jack agreed but despite the pain he was elated. This was the first interaction they’d had. “Are you going to be okay?”

Brock sucked down a deep breath though it sounded a little wet. 

“I gotta be Big, make sure you get on the plane.” Brock squeezed his eyes shut. “I gotta, I gotta, I gotta.”

Jack wished it wasn’t true, that he could take lead because he wanted to hold onto this side of Brock for as long as possible. “I know you do, sweetheart.”

For a moment there was just silence between them and then a shout of “Commander!” had Brock turning sharply and stalking away without another word.

When he was in the medbay all Jack could do was hope he hadn’t damaged the fragile trust between them. Brock hadn’t stopped in and in the helicopter he had sat as far away as possible. He was stuck there for forty eight hours, a Shield requirement, and he hadn’t expected a late night visitor. 

“Glad you’re not dead.”

Jack had just begun to doze, the medication and drain from the last chaotic twenty four hours weighing heavily on him. But he snapped to as soon as he heard Brock’s voice, quiet but snarky.

“Me too.” Jack shifted up slightly from his drooping position. 

They were quiet letting the conversation sit between them until Brock was ready to address it. 

“I always knew that you knew.” Brock said quietly. “Pretty sure the Director assigned you on purpose.”

Jack hadn’t really considered that but, yes, Director Fury usually had his reasons for placements. “Maybe, but that doesn’t really matter. You’re the commander.”

Brock squared up his shoulders. “Yeah, I am.” He shuffled a bit closer. “I don’t usually act like that, you know. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t… I get it if you have to, I’d never tell you to alter a report just…”

“If it’s not directly to do with the mission there’s no reason to include it.” Jack said firmly. “You were scared, I don’t fault you for that.”

“It’s dumb,” Brock scoffed in a self deprecating way that made Jack want to reach towards him. He didn’t know if he’d tolerate that though. “You were the one hurt, not me. I had it under control, I knew they were coming…. I just… I kept thinking that you can’t roll the ball to me anymore.”

Finding out that those odd moments had meant something to Brock made Jack beyond happy. But he schooled his features and nodded in understanding. 

“I still have one good arm,” Jack reminded him. “We can roll the ball whenever you want.”

“It doesn’t annoy you?” Brock glanced at him seeming bashful. “I can be annoying, you know.”

“I disagree.” Jack frowned. “I would be honored to be able to play with you.”

Brock’s cheeks heated up and he sat down in the chair by the bed. Any exhaustion Jack had vanished and he nodded towards the remote. 

“I think channel 120 works best.”

Brock obediently punched in the channel and then stared at him as colorful cartoons lit up the screen. “You don’t honestly want to watch this.”

“Who says?” Jack replied pleasantly.

Brock made a face but settled in.

Jack initiated things from there on, coaxing Brock into being comfortable with classification. He was sure there was a story behind his reluctance, why he apologized for wanting Jack’s attention when they sat on his living room floor and rolled the ball back and forth with cartoons in the background. But he didn’t ask. 

He let Brock set the pace but he kept them in a forward momentum, whether it was baby steps or great bounds. On one particularly hot day in July Jack mentioned going out to get ice cream and visiting the ducks at the pond. 

Brock had been stock still, rolling the same worn tennis ball between his palm and the carpet. “Can I get sprinkles?” He finally mumbled, looking up through his lashes. 

Jack could have laughed in relief. “You most certainly can, honey.”

Brock had stood by the back door of Jack’s car and had sat quietly with expectant eyes when Jack opened the door and helped him in. As Jack buckled him in, it felt like a dream. He didn’t want to push his luck but kept looking in the rear view mirror to assure that this was real.

Jack made a note to buy him new clothes, just in case he reached that comfort level with him. 

Brock didn’t want to order at the stand, instead he tugged at Jack’s shirt until he leaned down so he could whisper the order in his ear. Jack got himself a small vanilla in a dish and a small twist with lots of rainbow sprinkles (“extra sprinkles, maybe, if-if you wanna”) in a sugar cone. 

Brock’s eyes had grown wide as dinner plates when Jack presented him with it. 

“For me?” he whispered in disbelief. 

“I don’t see any other good little boys.” Jack said with a shrug.

Brock rubbed his palms against his jeans and then reached for it. “I won’t make a mess, promise.”

“It’s okay if you do, sometimes little boys are messy.” Jack patted his pocket. “I have plenty of napkins.”

Brock stared at him a moment, seemingly floored by that. He took the cone carefully, like it was the most precious of gifts and poked his tongue out, stabbing it into the ice cream. Jack smiled. He was so unbelievably lucky to have earned his trust and now all he had to do was hang onto it until he was his little boy. 

Their next outing came a few months later. Jack had recently coaxed Brock into more comfortable clothes for his visits and, save for an initial owlish look, had raised his arms above his head shocking Jack. They had seen each other naked in the locker room plenty of times but the trust it took to allow Jack to dress Brock almost brought tears to his eyes.

The tennis ball was losing its fuzz, well worn as it was the only toy Brock really had. Jack didn’t want to pick out toys for him without him, he had no idea what Brock really liked, after all. 

“You know, there’s a big sale at the toy store today.” Jack said as if it had just occurred to him. He had known about it, and had planned for this conversation. “Wanna come with me?”

“You’re gonna buy toys?” Brock eyed him cautiously.

“Well, I have this lovely little boy who comes to visit me and I really want to find something fun we can do together.”

Brock fidgeted. “Is… The little boy is me?” 

“He is.”

“You don’t gotta buy me toys,” Brock said, sounding somewhat bigger much to Jack’s disappointment. “If you… If you really wanna do that at least let me pay for it.”

“No,” Jack said firmly. “I didn’t ask if you wanted to buy toys. I want to do this.”

Brock locked eye contact with him, a stare down just like when they had different ideas to approach a target. But he looked away first with a small sigh. “Okay,” he murmured. “Thanks Jack. I mean for...for all of this. Putting up with me and shit.”

“Stuff,” Jack corrected immediately. “I really like the time we spend together so, please, don’t thank me.”

Brock smiled, that small understated smile of a little boy who had been praised. “Okay,” he bobbed his head. “But I wanna bring Ball.”

Jack didn’t know when the tennis ball had been given a name but he didn’t hate it. “Ball certainly needs to come.” Jack agreed.

When Brock had an accident on the couch, he squeezed between the tv stand and the wall to hide. Jack had gone to refill his sippy cup with juice and came back to a sodden spot on his couch and a missing Little.

It was easy to follow the droplets of urine to his hiding spot but Jack didn’t push him. He grabbed a towel, trying to soak up as much as he could, sprinkling the spot with baking soda before he went to prepare a quick solution of watered down vinegar which he sprayed over the spot. He wiped to Brock’s hiding spot and let out a gasp of surprise.

“Oh thank goodness I found you! I was worried I’d be stuck watching the rest of Aladdin all myself.”

Brock looked awfully smooshed but he stared at Jack with true terror. “Sorry,” he breathed. 

“It’s okay,” Jack assured him. “Let’s get you into some dry clothes okay?”

Brock didn’t move, shrinking away. For a moment Jack wasn’t sure what to do so he held out his hand. Brock stared at it and, after a beat, reached out. Jack drew him out and took him to the bathroom to get him cleaned off. 

“Can I have a bath?” Brock whispered.

Jack was fairly certain he’d never stop being taken by surprise by this Little. It was Jack’s first time bathing him and it was quiet and calm. Jack was already planning on getting bath toys and bubble bath. From there Brock’s evenings were spent in a pull up and didn't seem to mind.

Brock’s first night spent at Jack’s apartment happened when he dropped off at the end of The Lion King. That had just returned from a long mission so Jack didn’t feel right waking him up. They were off for a four day weekend so he had tucked Brock in on the couch and gone to bed. Around three am he woke up to someone crawling into his bed.

Brock, Big or Little, Jack couldn’t be certain, wiggled under the covers and curled up at the edge of the bed. Jack had taken a gamble and ran his fingers through his hair. Brock had squirmed closer until his back was flush with Jack’s chest and let out a soft sleepy sigh. 

The very first time Brock called Jack ‘daddy’ he had been chased by a goose at the park they frequented. It was fall and they were walking around the pond while Brock picked out leaves he found pretty. He enjoyed feeding the ducks so Jack didn’t mind passing him the little baggy of seeds while he sat on the bench and checked the work email to make sure nothing had came up.

The scream had struck Jack to his very core and he was on his feet, hand reaching for a side arm that wasn’t there. Brock was racing towards him, hands over his head and behind him was a hissing goose. A few joggers paused to assess the situation and Jack rushed forward. 

The goose stopped short as Jack stared back at it. It’s neck was still outstretched, beak open and hissing. Brock was sobbing between his shouts. “It’s okay Brock, it’s okay,” Jack murmured. “Just step back with me okay?”

“Okay Daddy,” he hiccuped. “Okay.”

As they backed back towards the path, the goose did not approach and by the time their feet was on asphalt, it was ambling back around the pond. Brock was trembling, arms around Jack’s waist and face buried against his back. 

“Hey,” Jack said softly. “Hey it’s okay. That was really scary huh?”

“Mean duckie,” Brock was trying to climb Jack, the first indication that he wanted to be held. 

Jack was quick to scoop him up, backing up to sit on the bench. 

“It was a really mean goose, honey. The duckies are nice. Stay away from the geese.” 

Jack felt awful. He should have been paying attention, making sure that Brock wasn’t too far away or, god forbid, by the pond. He had to be better. Brock deserved better. 

“Geese,” Brock echoed, face pressed against Jack’s neck. “Daddy saved me.”

Daddy. Jack was fairly certain that being called Daddy would never get old and while he wished it could have come out at a happier time, he was grateful for it all the same. 

“Daddy will always save you, my little munchkin.” Jack murmured, rubbing his back. “Always.”

Brock selected his stuffed animal when he was Big. They were grabbing groceries together and the stuffed dog was sitting in the clearance section from Halloween. It was black with its skeleton drawn on with big eyes and a little red tongue. Brock had stared at it when they walked in and when they went to the bread aisle, wandered over. 

“Look at this stupid thing,” Brock said with a little smile. 

“He’s not stupid, he’s cute.”

Brock snorted and set him in his basket. “Since you think it’s so cute, I’ll get him for you.”

Jack had a feeling it wasn’t actually for him but it was left in his bags so he added it on top of the toy chest in his living room. When Brock came over next he went right too and for his entire visit, it never once left his arms.

They moved in with each other four months later. Brock’s lease ran up and he asked to crash there for a few months while he found a new apartment. Unsurprisingly, Brock never left and together they created a Little haven of a bedroom for him but it was never really used. Jack would tuck him into his bed but Brock would find his way back into his bed before morning. The only time he stayed in the bed were naps.

It wasn’t just the Little moments that Jack loved, it was the Big ones where Brock liked to strut around and hurl playful insults at him and try to cook. It was going out to forgotten diners around the city and eating cheese burgers and fries. It was cracking open beers to unwind and holding Brock when he grieved the loss of one of their team members. It was date nights and enjoying each other’s company.

Most importantly it was theirs.


End file.
